Gladiolus
by Ermelinde
Summary: Time and experiences change people. When the war finally hits home, a revengeful mother will do anything to make sure the Dark Lord suffers for his crimes...Even if it means that she has to train Harry Potter herself. NMHP
1. Rosemary

**I DO NOT OWN THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!**

**Title: **Gladiolus

**Summary:** Time and experiences change people. When the war finally hits home, a revengeful mother will do anything to make sure the Dark Lord suffers for his crimes...Even if it means that she has to train Harry Potter. NMHP

* * *

**_Rosemary: _**_remembrance, love, and death._

* * *

_Mr. Potter: _

_By my request you have been invited to my son's burial this Sunday at noon. It shall be a very small, private ceremony with only myself and a companion attending as witnesses. You may bring two…friends… to accompany you, but do choose wisely. Normally I would send you a formal invitation but the situation is rather unique, don't you agree? _

_Sincerely, _

_Narcissa Black _

"What's wrong, Harry?"

It was Hermione. Her bushy hair had been pulled back into a neat bun that was now starting to fall apart as the frizzy locks 'struggled' to be free. She sat on a chair at a newly transfigured desk, a large tome open in front of her.

The small room in Number Four Private Drive had been completely redecorated by Hermione (with a tiny bit of help from Ron) to suit their needs for the next week. All the broken toys had been bagged, shoved in the small closet, and the transfigured furniture was of far better quality than anything the Dursleys would have shoved in the room for a 'freak's' use.

Ron was also there, already plotting his next move on the chest board squeezed into the corner of the room while he waited for Harry to return. When Hermione's concerned question reached his ears, he too glanced up.

"Harry?"

Harry himself was silent, staring at the parchment. It wasn't the rough and cheap parchment he used at Hogwarts. Instead it was smooth, creamy, and almost silky to touch. The ink used was a rich black; the script itself was almost calligraphy as it scrawled out in perfect, neat lines.

The first thing that entered his mind was that…Malfoy was dead. But Harry didn't remember the sneering, arrogant boy from school. No, he only thought of the scared boy that couldn't kill his Headmaster because he didn't want to, but needed to.

Snape killed him instead, and Malfoy…was dead. Why?

Then, _'is this a trap?'_ entered his mind next.

"Harry?" Hermione was stood before him now, but she didn't take the letter since she probably didn't know how he would react.

"Are you alright?"

"Malfoy is dead," Harry whispered, the day of Dumbledore's death replaying in his head.

"Then you should be happy! That little Ferret—" Ron was silenced by Hermione's scalding glare.

"May I?" Hermione gestured to the parchment on Harry's lap. He nodded silently.

She snatched it up, read it quickly before rereading it slowly once more. Hermione checked the address, but it only read 'Harry Potter.' She gave a relieved sigh, glad that the blasted woman didn't know where her friend was. But the question was…How did it get past the Order?

"You're not going, Harry, it's far too dangerous!" Hermione told him quickly, turning to grab a self-inking quill so she could reply to…Ms. Black?

Ron jumped to his feet and snatched the letter from Hermione's hands, ignored her loud protests and read the letter himself.

"It doesn't sound that bad, she's probably just trying to make you feel guilty, Harry. But who's her, ugh, companion? Bellatrix? Malfoy senior is still in Azkaban," Ron rolled his eyes and shoved the missive back into Harry's hands.

"I want to go," Harry suddenly announced. Silence settled over the room and his two friends stared at him in shock.

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Ron suddenly shook his head and turned his attention back to Harry.

"Err, why mate?"

Harry ignored the question, because he himself didn't exactly know the reasoning behind his hasty decision. He just felt…that it was his duty to attend. He didn't know why he felt guilty, but he did…

"I'll have two of the Order Members accompany me. That way if it is a trap, they can help me defend myself and you two won't get hurt."

Hermione looked like she really wanted to say something, maybe question him a bit more but suddenly her expression turned pensive. Ron was about to say something, but it was her turn to hush him.

Harry barrowed a quill from Hermione, ignored the glances his two friends kept sending him…and replied to the message.

_I'll be there. _

_-HP _

* * *

It's been two weeks since school ended, almost a week since the letter, and only one day until the funeral. Out of the blue the day before the funeral Hermione had pulled out a book on old traditions, mostly to satisfy her curiosity on how burials may differ than the one that Dumbledore received.

"The Malfoys probably have an underground mausoleum since it says here…that wizarding folk are very paranoid about their ancestors' remains being disturbed. Overall the Wizarding world is not very religious, but they do have strict if not slightly queer traditions. Oh! It even mentions that the Black family tends to favor a cremation ceremony while the Malfoys are similar to the Pharaohs of Egypt with very extravagant tombs…Interesting," Hermione muttered, curling up next to the bed in her own little world.

Ron rolled his eyes and made a hand gesture to show he thought Hermione had a few screws loose. Harry grinned and knew if Hermione had seen that she would have regretted explaining what the odd gesture meant almost a week ago to Ron when he spotted Dudley using it. Oh, and she'd probably swat Ron hard upside the head too.

Harry went back to pacing as he tried to figure what he would wear to the funeral the next day. Shacklebolt and Tonks had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to be his 'body guards' tomorrow. Tonks had even stopped by the other day to tell him the news, especially the fact that Moody had thrown a huge fit at Harry's decision. The old Auror had wanted _five_ Order Members to go along with Harry also, but it had been McGonagall (who looked slightly shaken) that finally approved of the trip.

However, he really didn't want to go shopping for new clothes…and he certainly was not ready to face the public.

_'There will be plenty of funerals to attend in the future, Potter, so you might as well go buy yourself a few black robes for the future,' _a voice whispered in his head, its tone almost _pleased_.

He was going insane, wasn't he?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when the impatient tapping at the window caught his attention. Throwing open the curtains, a large dark brown bird hissed at him from behind the glass. Pausing, Harry slowly opened the window but the bird only left a large square parcel on the window ceil.

_'I should check it for hexes,'_ Harry thought to himself with a shake of his head. Maybe Moody was actually rubbing off on him and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"Hermione? Can you check this out for me?" Harry asked loudly, amused when Ron only snorted from his place slumped on the bed next to where his female friend had been reading. He probably only dozed off in the last ten minutes.

Hermione carefully bookmarked her spot, climbed off the bed and poked the parcel a few times. Nothing happened, nothing moved, and Hermione frowned. Pausing, a flood of spells spilled from her lips as she tested the 'thing' for any possible hexes.

"It's safe to touch, but we should be careful opening it…I really don't like this Harry, I don't think the Order is doing a very good job checking your mail," Hermione shook her head scornfully and picked the parcel up delicately with only two fingers from both hands.

Harry gestured to the desk, she nodded, and they both huddled around the package. "When I open it, duck!"

Hermione opened it, and almost instantly they fell to the ground with a 'thump.' Petunia yelled something upstairs something along the lines of 'quiet down you ungrateful little snots!' but other than that, nothing happened.

Harry peered up slowly before getting to his feet. A small, creamy scroll tied with red ribbon lay on a black bundle. He reached for it, gingerly untied it before reading the following:

_An offering of peace, Mr. Potter, for tomorrow. _

_-AM _

"AM? It's certainly not a Malfoy, only Lucius is alive—as far as we know…" Hermione trailed off, shaking sighing. She had been reading over Harry's shoulder, and he realized she had picked up the habit of sighing quite a bit lately.

Harry picked up the bundle, and it unfolded itself to reveal a nicely cut robe.

Embroidered on the front over the left breast was a crest…It was an odd thing. The picture was of a large shield cracked almost cleanly down the middle; on one side was a fierce but large serpentine bird with silver plumage and clutching a rather odd ceremonial wand. Its background was that of a soft, night sky.

On the other side of the dividing crack was a tawny Griffin sitting upright on its haunches, his talons grasping the shining globe of the sun that appeared to have been plucked easily from the blue sky behind him.

"That's beautiful," Hermione breathed besides him, and Harry held the robe higher into the air so he could inspect it better. The robe itself was rather simple, heavy velvet with wine colored satin trimming and lining. Other than the simple but elegant lining and crest there were no other designs.

"Harry…uh…" Hermione appeared to be arguing with herself inwardly before she gave a half hearted smile.

"Why don't you try it on?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, glancing towards Ron to find him still snoozing away. Harry still felt suspicious about the robe, but pulled it over his clothes anyway.

"Wait! There's more!" Hermione exclaimed in shock as she noticed two more items where the robe once rested. Harry finished pulling on the open-front robe anyway and had to pause when the material shifted to fit him perfectly.

Hermione held up a neatly ironed white button up shirt, dark wine pintuck waistcoat, black dress pants, black leather belt, matching tie, and polished dress shoes. Harry almost expected to see a pocket watch or top hat because the whole assemble seemed to have popped right out of a history book.

Harry felt a little…faint. "Now, this is seriously getting creepy."

* * *

Tonks whistled slowly as she circled Harry slowly before giggling lightly, "Wotcher Harry! Jeez, You sure clean up nicely!"

The young Auror's face was still pale, drawn, and her eyes were a dark haunted blue but the light blonde hair tumbling to her shoulders was quite an improvement compared to mousey brown. She even managed to smile.

"Nice to see you too, Harry," Kingsley greeted calmly, inclining his head back respectively before giving the Durselys (Petunia and Vernon, both who were torn between watching Harry jealously for his show of 'wealth' and running away from the dark skinned wizard) a contemptuous glance.

Both Aurors were wearing their work robes, which were such a dark purple that it was almost black. The Ministry symbol was etched in gold over their hearts, but the whole fashion of the robes was a bit more…extravagant than Harry expected.

"Um, what's up with the uniforms?" Harry asked awkwardly, honestly hoping that it wasn't a stupid question.

Tonks grinned widely. "Well, technically we're still on duty and since it would be impolite to wear our regular Ministry robes to a funeral, we had to wear these stuffy ceremonial ones reserved for those stupid functions our Head throws…gah, we look like a swarm of purple bees!"

Kingsley nodded slowly in agreement, smiling slightly at her description of the uniform.

"So, yeah, and only the family of the poor unfortunate soul are allowed to wear all black," Tonks stated absentmindedly, and almost muttered something about Draco not being a 'poor soul.'

However, he was. Anyone that died by Voldemort's wand was a poor soul, Death Eater or not.

"It's time to leave."

They took the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron and flooed to Malfoy Manor. Oddly enough, they had to wait almost five minutes before they could exit the fireplace due to security.

"Mr. Potter, I'm honored by your presence," the soft, melodic voice greeted Harry instantly as he _toppled_ out of fireplace at the feet of someone that was certainly a female if the feminine shoes were anything to judge by.

Blushing, Harry picked himself up with help from Kingsley and Tonks. "Err, nice to see you too, Mrs. Malfoy." That was a lie, a very obvious one.

The blonde woman curtsied, glossy flaxen curls falling over her shoulders. She reminded Harry of a porcelain doll—tall, beautiful, pale skinned with a slightly flushed face. But her eyes were so calm and icy, not the glassy gaze that he almost expected. She was dressed completely in black, from her bodice to her shoes and it made her appear almost fragile.

Harmless.

Narcissa straightened herself, but didn't bother attempting to smile. She gave the Aurors a disinterested glance, although her gaze lingered a second longer on Tonks before she turned her attention back on Harry.

"It's now Ms. Black, Mr. Potter. But you may call me Narcissa. Now, shall we proceed with the ceremony?"

"Uh, sure," Harry replied and could have sworn that he had seen a flicker of amusement in Narcissa's eyes.

She led them from the barren room, and Harry decided he found Malfoy Manor's interior to be rather gloomy and dull. Well, it might have been changed to suit the funeral, but Harry didn't really care.

However, the cold glares from the portraits were really starting to grate on his nerves as they maneuvered out of the private greeting room.

"We're not usually connected to the floo, Mr. Potter, so I apologize for such a long walk," Narcissa told them airily, opening the door to the Entrance Hall for the trio.

"She doesn't seem too upset with the death of her son, does she?" Tonks leaned over to whisper to Harry, shooting her aunt a dark glance.

Narcissa cleared her throat and Harry cringed when he realized Tonks had said that rather loud. There was another person in the room, but he was draped in dark green so Harry couldn't see his face.

However, he was rather tall but closer to average height than Snape was. So, it wasn't Snape…Or Voldemort. Plus, Harry's scar didn't hurt.

Other than that, there were no other clues in sight.

The two Aurors suddenly tensed up when the figure approached, calmly crossing the room from his spot next to the large doors. He bowed (a slight tilt of the upper body) and held his gloved hand out to Harry, "Mr. Potter, we meet once again," the voice was smooth and charismatic-- familiar but Harry couldn't put his thumb on it.

Harry suddenly felt compelled to shake the man's hand, which he did, and yet nothing happened. He realized that this was the mysterious guest of Narcissa's and probably 'AM.'

It was not Lucius Malfoy.

_'Since when did I call Malfoy's mother by her first name?' _

The odd group soon found themselves behind the beautifully crafted manor and before a coffin. A…person was waiting for them at the head of the coffin, but Harry wasn't sure who the heck he was. An undertaker? Priest? Hermione said modern Wizards were no longer very religious, but the odd man was dressed like some sort of priest.

The mage removed the arrangements of flowers from the coffin, and it was then that Harry realized that they were surrounded by nothing. They had walked through a maze of gardens to reach their destination, but they were now surrounded by…grass.

Harry noticed small stones littering the perfect lawn, the nearest said: "Abraxas Malfoy. A noble and beloved father—Dead and unseen, but always remembered."

The one next to that said almost the same thing.

"That's a Ceremonial Mage," Tonks whispered quietly before her expression returned to one of somberness.

The Ceremonial Mage removed the casket lid, revealing the peaceful face of Draco Malfoy.

However, Harry had the nauseating feeling that his rival had died anything but peacefully. The urge to run away took hold of the Gryffindor and Harry took a deep breath to calm himself, and instead stared at the corpse in a daze.

The Mage was chanting, holding a heavy book in front of him. Someone was sobbing quietly, and Harry realized with a jolt that it was Narcissa from her place standing between Kingsley and the mysterious figure. Her head was tilted forward, long curls covering her face from view. Harry quickly reverted his eyes, remembering that it was rude to stare.

How many other mothers sobbed over their child due to Voldemort's insanity?

Swallowing thickly, Harry realized this was worse than Dumbledore's death.

Why? Because this was a young man that…that had deserved to live until he had fully experienced the world…until Harry finally managed to pound into his head that his father was a fucking moron!

But what upset Harry the most that so many people were going to die for stupid reasons until he did something about it.

The chanting went on for what seemed forever until Narcissa stopped the Mage abruptly. She approached her son, kissed his cheek gently before whispering something into his ear. After that, Narcissa pulled out a gardenia and some rosemary from her purse and placed it in the crook of Draco's folded arms.

As she stepped away, the sound of grinding stone filled the air.

Underneath the coffin the ground parted…and by magic, the coffin closed itself and lowered into the tomb slowly. Harry couldn't see anything inside the tomb, yet he really didn't want to anyway, but he watched as the ground closed up once more.

There was no trace of the large, gapping hole any longer. It just appeared to be solid ground, but Harry knew better. There would be a headstone of some sort that had Draco's name, a compliment, and the same line that Abraxas' headstone held also added later.

And the Malfoy lined has ended.

Now Harry felt awkward, just standing there…

Narcissa, who now had rather puffy eyes, took a deep but shuddering breath and approach Harry quietly. "Mr. Potter, please follow me."

The trip passed quickly since Harry was too lost in his thoughts to notice much. It was time to return to his friends, wasn't it?

They were taking a different path through the gardens, Harry realized with a worried frown marring his brow. However, out of the two Aurors only Shaklebolt had noticed since Tonks was too busy glaring at the back of Narcissa's head.

The cloaked man had disappeared and Harry felt uneasiness settle in his stomach. "Ms. Black, where are we going?"

"Back to the Manor," she replied simply, but did not turn around to face him. When they rounded a corner, Harry's uneasy feeling tripled. There before them was a…dead end. There was a bench and Narcissa swiftly approached it…

The Aurors drew their wands.

Narcissa turned to face them in a swirl of skirts and suddenly unfurled her arms fluidly like a great swan preparing to take flight. Blue eyes sparked with sudden triumph, a small sinister smile curling about her lips.

"Now," she commanded-- her voice no softer than a whisper. Narcissa gracefully shifted into a curtsey in one smooth movement, the peaceful silence shattered by a low rumbling. The rose bushes surrounding them burst forward, swirled, scattered until all was seen was a sweet smelling blizzard of petals.

"HARRY!" Someone screamed, but the boy was so confused. There were flashes of red light, aimless, and Harry threw himself to the ground with a grunt. Better safe than sorry.

Glancing up, Harry noticed that rose petals were falling like rain but so thick that he really couldn't see anything. His heart started to race, and he wanted to move but his body refused to obey. The smooth path of stone was safe from the spells now flying overhead as Tonks quickly became frantic. He should have listened to Hermione.

"I'm over here!" Harry bellowed.

Everything was red.

Everything was moving.

Someone grabbed him by the back of the robes, easily hauled him up and pressed a white handkerchief over Harry's mouth and nose. He struggled, but his attempts quickly faded as his energy was stolen and he became lethargic.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Potter," that charismatic voice of the green cloaked man from earlier whispered into his ear.

Harry's eyelids drooped, and he gave one last but weak attempt to even _move_…but the world went black…

* * *

**Uploaded: **11/12/06

The next chapter will be better, I promise :) Also, this will be slightly AU since I don't like the birth year that JK chose for Narcissa.

Please READ & REVIEW! Constructive criticism welcomed, but please tell me what you think!


	2. Galax

**I DO NOT OWN THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!**

**Title: **Gladiolus

**Summary:** Time and experiences change people. When the war finally hits home, a revengeful mother will do anything to make sure the Dark Lord suffers for his crimes...Even if it means that she has to train Harry Potter. NMHP

* * *

**_Galax:_**_ Encouragement_

* * *

Everything was soft, warm, and safe. Harry frowned in his sleep, eyes fluttering open before he stretched with a large yawn. He suddenly paused, staring around the handsome room in confusion. It was three times larger than his room at the Dursleys', but not so humongous that it would make someone feel like they were drowning in empty space.

The furniture and interior design was warm and earthy, the French doors thrown open to reveal a large balcony and sunny afternoon. Harry blinked and sprung out of bed when all the memories of the funeral finally hit him.

Grabbing the robe laid out neatly on the pulled out desk chair, Harry shoved it on without much thought. He only knew he needed to cover himself since he had been stripped down to his pants.

The door was unlocked. Should he chance it?

No, he had no idea what was on the other side or where the hell he was. Instead he searched frantically for another escape route.

Harry glanced towards the balcony and slowly approached the French doors. Tiptoeing to the railing, he took a deep breath and…looked down.

"Holy crap," Harry whispered to himself, staring down at the ground from almost five stories up.

"A rather lovely view, isn't it?"

Harry spun around, his hand going to his pocket for his wand but it wasn't there. Miserably, he reached back to clutch the railing. At least he could threaten to jump and maybe he would bounce like Neville did when his uncle dropped him.

"Who are you?" he spat at the green cloaked man and was slightly annoyed when he (for some reason) could sense the other man was greatly amused.

The figure sighed and pressed his gloved hand to his chest melodramatically, directly over his heart. "I'm hurt, Mr. Potter, that you can't figure out who I am!"

"But, I suppose all is forgiven. I'm not as well known as say…Lucius Malfoy?" The figure took a step forward.

Harry watched him warily.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" the man hinted once more.

The green cloaked man was a Death Eater, no surprise there…but which one?

Gloved hands reached for his green hood and swiftly removed it, revealed austere mint green eyes that glinted like two chips of jade from a slightly hollow face that may have once been quite handsome. His hair was wavy, once black but now almost completely grey and brushed back with impeccable manner.

_Mulciber _didn't look too different from the last time Harry had seen him. He was still pale, straight nosed, and had perfect posture but overall he seemed healthier.

Harry would say that Azkaban didn't seem to have affected the Death Eater to the same extent it had done to Sirius. However, the way the man's clothing seemed to hang limply off his frame corrected this assumption. He hadn't noticed it before.

"Are you quite done with your scrutinizing yet?" Mulciber asked, the corner of his lips twitching a bit in what Harry guessed was a slight smile… Or even a repressed sneer?

Maybe Death Eaters lacked the muscles needed to smile?

"Err, yeah, sorry," Harry muttered, turning his gaze to the ground…what the hell?

"It's quite alright. Now, you've been out for almost two days so you should be rather hungry." Mulciber quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head a bit as he semi-patiently waited for an answer.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Narrowing his eyes, he clenched his fists when a sudden wave of anger rolled over him. "What is going on? Why am I here? Why am I not dead? Why are you being so NICE?" Harry exploded, throwing his hands in the air as he demanded answers.

Those austere mint eyes seemed to take on a new level of unmerciful _loathing_. However, Mulciber's body language was a complete contradictory to the glint in his eyes, but rather he appeared relaxed and vaguely amused just like a few moments ago.

"You are here because someone wanted you to be. You are not dead because you're alive, and I'm being…nice, as you put it, simply because I choose to be. Now, as for what is going on, why don't you walk out that door and find out for yourself?"

Mulciber stepped aside and gestured grandly towards the door on the opposite side of the room.

_'Smart arse,'_ Harry grumbled mentally to himself and took a few wary steps forward. Mulciber remained where he was, now straight backed and watching him expectantly.

Harry took a few more steps forward, inching past Mulciber much to the Death Eater's amusement. Abruptly the Gryffindor sprung forward, threw open the door and flew out the door at a full sprint.

He dashed to the right, his bare feet slapping against the cool marble and Harry quickly got lost. But he ran, and ran…and ran like a mad man with the devil at his heels! He twisted and turned, opening random doors and dashing through…

The air blew through his hair and the young Potter almost felt free, like he was flying. All he knew was that he needed out, now, before they caught him and questioned him.

Torture him…

Panting, he almost tripped going down the stairs. Harry had only eyes for the corridor in front of him, and even then he didn't exactly notice anything. Hell, he had even ran headlong into a few walls quite a few times. All his instincts just screamed to run while his Gryffindor pride licked its wounds in the back of his mind.

Everything was blindingly white and quiet. There were very few portraits, but they gave no clues as to where he could possibly be because Harry didn't look at them-- didn't notice them.

His head seemed to beat simultaneously with the rhythm of his heart and the building panic in his chest was rising, threatening to engulf him but Harry kept running. Another pair of stairs, and the walls seemed to close in on him like a stifling as a blanket.

Harry carried on.

Two more flights of stairs, and Harry accidentally stumbled into a room. It was white too, completely barren, so Harry continued on his way. Finally, he was on the ground floor and Harry raced towards the large doors before him…

Throwing the door open, he found two people waiting for him.

"Ah, I'm so glad you could make it, Harry!" It was Mulciber.

The Death Eater was sitting down at an extensive but disgustingly white dining room table fashioned from highly polished marble—the extreme lack of color made him want to gag.

But Mulciber's chair was facing the door, and the old man was sitting so casually the Gryffindor had the sneaking suspicion that he had been expecting Harry to rush into the large room all along.

"It was quite rude of you to rush away like that, Harry-dear, but it did save us an awkwardly silent walk down to lunch—I'll give you that," Mulciber commented with a sardonic smirk.

The other person in the room was Narcissa. She sat on the opposite side of the table, directly across from Mulciber so that she was also facing the door. The blonde woman was no longer wearing her black gown, but had donned on a set of pale grey robes that almost accomplished the impossible feat of making her appear dreary and plain.

But Narcissa didn't say anything. Pale turquoise orbs were staring at Harry with such intensity that his gut flip-flopped and he felt like a little boy—shy, awkward, and unsure.

"Now, Harry, do sit down," Mulciber got to his feet effortlessly and pulled a chair out for Harry to seat himself in. The older man also turned his own chair so that he could face the table once more before sinking down on the cushions in one fluid motion.

Harry stood there, staring at the back of Mulciber's head. Why would the idiot turn his back on him?

_'I'm completely defenseless—hell, I don't even have any shoes on to kick him properly with!'_ was the depressing though that entered Harry's mind.

The Gryffindor shuffled in reluctantly, seeing no option since fleeing the room would not work this time around. Harry stumbled when he stubbed his toe on the chair after pulling it out, and blushing with embarrassment he finally seated himself.

There was no food on the table, only empty porcelain dishes. They were white like the rest of the house, besides the room Harry had been shoved into after being _kidnapped_. As lunch was served (a light soup, bread, and his choice of drink) Harry only stared at it.

Was it poisoned?

The others were eating, idly chatting but oddly enough Harry wasn't really interested in their conversation. But, he was starting to feel a tad more comfortable.

"Well, boy? Are you going to eat or not? If we wanted to kill you, Harry, then you would already be dead," Mulciber snapped and then took a sip of his drink and turning his attention back towards Narcissa.

Harry opened his mouth to reply sarcastically, but realized both Narcissa and Mulciber had not been trying to kill him for the past fifteen years. No, that had been Voldemort. The fifth year disaster had only happened on Voldemort's orders.

Where they keeping him alive and 'happy' so Voldemort could stop by for dinner and kill Harry for dessert?

Shite.

Harry stared at the soup; head bowed so that his bangs fell into his eyes, and extended a hand to grasp the spoon. He stirred the liquid absentmindedly, his mind slowly turning his situation over in his head.

It didn't make sense.

* * *

Lunch passed quickly, silence reigning over the room and leaving Harry to his thoughts. The young Potter hadn't touched his food beyond playing with it, still afraid that it might be poisoned. Mulciber had threatened to force-feed Harry but Narcissa had silenced the old Death Eater with a scathing glare.

Later, a house-elf led Harry back to his room and he shuffled after the silent creature through the ivory corridors. He was extremely confused by the time they reached his room, so all he could do was sit down on his bed and brood.

As he continued to think, his confusion tripled and he only received a terrible headache as a reward.

Covering his face with his hands, Harry closed his eyes.

Someone knocked at the door.

Eyes shooting to the exit, Harry slowly got up and approached the door warily. "Who's there?"

"Narcissa," a calm, cold voice answered—slightly muffled through the wood.

Harry gritted his teeth and bit back a scalding comment, "What do you want?"

There was a short pause, "Mr. Potter, I believe it's quite obvious as to what I am here for. Now, unless you're dancing around like a monkey in your birthday suit…then I'm entering your room."

Harry could only gap at her nonchalant tone. The door swung open and the blonde woman swept in, still clad in her drab robes but appearing to be vaguely in good humor.

Narcissa conjured a plush chair and gracefully seated herself, arranging her skirts comfortably. She took a moment to survey Harry before shaking her head, blonde curls bouncing somberly before she brushed them away from her face.

"Mr. Potter, you are here to be educated in the fine art of killing Dart Lords and defending yourself from ravenous Death Eaters," Narcissa started smoothly, her hands folded in her lap serenely.

Harry, who had moved back to the bed, would have fallen over if he hadn't been sitting. All he could do was stare at her like she had grown two heads and splutter out, "W-what?"

"Are you deaf, Mr. Potter?"

All Harry did was blink owlishly, so Narcissa went on despite the lack of answer.

"The Order of Phoenix—Yes, I know who they are, Mr. Potter, Lucius tended to rant quite a bit about that organization," Narcissa snapped sourly when she saw Harry open his mouth to interrupt.

"Please keep all questions to yourself until I'm done speaking. Now, the Order obviously is not going to help you in the most…desired way. Only a few precious members may understand that you're as green as a new born foal, and even when they do train you…well, Mr. Potter, you will still be quite helpless against the Death Eaters," Narcissa, despite being a proper lady, allowed herself to shrug.

"But—"

"Silence! I know you were able to triumph in the Departments of Mysteries, but it's not quite an accomplishment to brag about if you think about it. You're friends were facing a group of Death Eaters in which most of them were fresh out of Azkaban and hardly healthy or fit…and in the end, you needed help!" Narcissa mocked heatedly, eyes blazing with anger.

That was the day Lucius landed his carcass in Azkaban. _Bastard_.

"It was pure luck," Narcissa whispered, glancing down at her folded hands briefly. Her intense turquoise gaze was once again focused on Harry, which made him squirm…and he couldn't help but agree that he had been lucky to a certain extent.

Sirius…

"Here, you will learn everything necessary to accomplish your goals," Narcissa continued, quietly as if depressing thoughts were weighing her down.

"How do I know you won't betray me?" Harry asked bitterly, although he desperately wanted to believe her. She looked so…sad. How he knew, he wasn't sure because Narcissa's expression gave _nothing_ away.

So why did he think she looked sad?

"You don't," Narcissa replied bluntly, her lips curling into a smirk, "But you're not going anywhere so you really have no choice but to trust me—trust us."

Harry took a deep breath and fell silent for a while, digesting everything she had said. In the end, he saw no choice but to go along with the whole thing. Why? Because he was stuck and even if he did escape he had no idea where he was, nor did he have his wand.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry inquired suddenly, the question bursting from his lips.

Narcissa tilted her head and seemed to ponder his question. "Why don't you answer that yourself? I'm sure you're a smart boy, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked. He would think about it later. "What about the Hor—err, never mind."

Stupid! That's what he was, stupid! It was one thing to go along with this silly game, but to slip up like that…

Narcissa laughed softly, but it sounded empty and listless. "The Horcruxes? Oh, Mr. Potter, do not worry about them. Now, my cousin will be arriving early tomorrow, so if I were you I'd get some sleep before then."

The blonde woman smiled wickedly at him and all Harry's pity, sympathy, or compassion for her suddenly fled and he scowled.

Narcissa stood and mockingly curtseyed before sweeping from the room.

Harry glared at the now closed door and glanced towards the clock hung opposite of the bed. It was far later than he had expected, he must have sat here on the bed almost three hours before Narcissa arrived.

And was did she take up her maiden name?

Nothing was making any sense! Harry's head gave a particularly painful throb and he groaned, slumping back against the bed. He stared up at the canopy of the bed listlessly, pondering what he got himself into.

_'Tomorrow'_, he decided, _'will be the day I try to escape. I want to see who this cousin is first, though…' _

At the moment he didn't care that he was still fully dressed, Harry crawled under the duvet and slept on the side of the bed that was closet to the door. Since he was such a light sleeper, he would awaken if anyone entered the room.

It's not like he could do anything about it anyway…

At with that, the young Potter found himself falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Harry jolted awake when someone pulled the blankets off of his bed, and he suddenly found himself spluttering when a pitcher full of icy cold water was dumped over his head. "What the hell!?"

"Mr. Potter, watch your language!" someone crackled—a completely foreign voice.

Harry irritably brushed his hair from his face, ready to yell and scream at whoever dared to wake him in such a terrible manner…

But the words died on his lips the instant he laid eyes on _him_…

Augustus Rookwood was standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, and one foot tapping impatiently. At first Harry didn't recognize him, his face was completely free of pock marks and well…like Mulciber, and he appeared to be in better health than the last time they met.

"Are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to get your arse of bed, Mr. Potter?" Augustus asked dryly, rolling his crystal blue eyes.

The Death Eater casually walked to one side of the bed, bent over and…Harry suddenly found himself on the floor with a sore arse after the mattress was tipped.

"Hey!"

"Well, you weren't going anywhere!" Rookwood appeared next to Harry, making the boy jump to his feet.

The Death Eater ushered him out of the room and soon demanded loudly: "Run!"

"What?" Harry demanded indignantly.

"Run!" Rookwood shoved Harry, making the Gryffindor stumble.

"Run or I'll—"

Harry sprinted down the hall, unwilling to learn what the Death Eater would do to him. He slipped a few times (he was still wet with water), and since he really didn't know where he was going, Harry ran as fast as he could and took random twists and turn just like yesterday afternoon.

Panting, he came to a sudden halt before huge double doors. His feet were still sore from the few times he had stubbed a toe or two on the stairs, but Harry could hardly care. There doors weren't the same as the dining room, and slowly the Gryffindor approached them.

When he was a good five feet away, he stopped. Nothing happened.

Harry shuffled forward, inch by inch, and touched the door.

Nothing.

He grasped the ornate silver doorknob.

Nothing.

Harry twisted the doorknob as if to open said door and suddenly found himself thrown across the room and on his arse for the second time that day. Getting up, he rubbed his bottom and suddenly spotted some windows.

Racing towards them, he threw open the curtains and scrambled to find a way out. Nothing! No lock, handle, or anything! Hell, the windows weren't even made to be opened! The glass had been frosted over so that the only thing Harry saw on the other side was light and shadows.

He would find another way out, but for now he would stick to his plan and play along.

"I believe you made a wrong turn, Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped, almost fell over, but managed to turn around. He found himself staring into Augustus Rookwood's amused gaze and decided that all Death Eaters were just plain creepy.

Not scary, but creepy.

"Err, I guess so," Harry replied hesitantly, biting his lip.

"Well, follow me."

What followed next was hell.

Harry had breakfast with only Rookwood, in which he was actually force-fed lukewarm oatmeal and fruit. After that, a really heavy vest had been shoved onto Harry's shoulders and he was forced to run around some empty training room Rookwood had led him to.

On and on, Harry lost count of how many laps he was forced to do. But when his legs had collapsed from underneath him, the Death Eater had the gall to drag him to the library. Instead of reading the thick tomb handed to him, Harry had fallen asleep.

Due to his 'disobedience,' Rookwood had cast a silencing spell and used the Cruciatus Curse to punish him. Then Harry was given an hour break, which he slept through and was awakened with a similar fashion like that morning.

After that, Augustus expected a duel?

Yeah right.

Both Rookwood and Harry were standing in the room that Harry had been forced to run laps in earlier that morning. Rookwood appeared perfectly fine, if not cheerful, while Harry himself looked close to collapsing once more. He had--twice on the way up--but Rookwood had dragged him by the arm until Harry got to his feet.

"Well, come on!" Rookwood demanded crossing his arms with frustration.

Harry only sat down on the cool marble and stared at him blankly.

Rookwood pursed his lips, mumbled something under his breath that sounded similar to 'Narcissa…kill me…damn it.'

"Potter, go to bed," he sighed, "I would try to torment you into dueling with me, but I'm afraid you might end up hurting yourself instead," Rookwood shook his head and casually waved a hand as if batting away a pesky gnat.

"Go, go on! I'll send some supper to your room, Potter, but I expect you to be fully recovered by tomorrow."

* * *

The next two weeks passed in a similar fashion. However, Augustus now seemed to know where Harry now stood, and adjusted the routine to slowly push the boy past his limits and make him better a better dueler. At first Harry really did not understand why he needed run so much, but Rookwood demonstrated why the skill was so essential by challenging Mulciber to a duel...

Harry quickly learned his lesson and had taken to running every morning without any further complaints. All his lessons were with Augustus so far, and it was mostly physical exercise and reading. He was required to learn five spells every day, memorize them, and be completely able to cast them by the next afternoon in his daily duel against Rookwood.

This meant he was given his wand back! The first thing he had done was try to escape, which...didn't work out too well. Next, he sulked and thrashed his room. Oh boy, did he pay for that! He had been hung by his ankles for almost three hours by Mulciber, but Rookwood had been so concerned about all the blood rushing to Harry's head that he released the poor boy.

After the first week of spending his time trying to escape, receiving punishment for failing to memorize five spells every day, and generally being a sulky brat-- Harry decided to get serious and spent all his free time on his studies. When bored, he would try to escape but it was more of a hobby than an actual need to leave the Manor.

He still worried over his friends, but Harry had convinced himself that this was for the best. Not that he had a choice, anyway.

Although he learned his spells dutifully, Harry still had his arse handed to him day after day. However, the duels were growing longer and well...Harry was proud that he could last at least five minutes. He still had a lot of work to do, obviously.

But, Harry did not see Narcissa often in the past two weeks. Only once because she had gone out of her way to check on him, but Harry was slightly disgruntled that he actually _missed_ her. He didn't even know her very well!

Rookwood took a seat next to Harry at the library table. He wasn't a very handsome man, but you couldn't say he was dreadfully ugly like Snape. No, he was very serious in appearance with a stern chin, thin lips, sharply arched eyebrows and constant frown. His hair was long, a dark bark brown. The front was usually pulled back with a small clip and out of the way of piercing crystal blue eyes. The only two emotions on his face were usually boredom, disapproval, or amusement—never the eerie blankness that Narcissa or Mulciber often possessed.

The pockmarks had been a result of an infection while 'visiting' Azkaban. But they had been removed once a healer poked and prodded him, almost six months after he escaped Azkaban.

It had taken all of Harry's courage to ask him, but Rookwood had calmly answered his question about the marks. Rookwood had even added that the Dark Lord did not respect his Death Eaters like he used to, which gave Harry some clue as to why the former Unspeakable was helping him.

"Now, Harry, your lessons are going to change. You will still spend the first portion of the morning with me, but Mulciber will be teaching you Transfiguration and Charms while Narcissa will be giving you lessons in Potions and Occlumency the rest of the afternoon."

Rookwood watched Harry carefully, one hand propping up his head casually.

"Huh?"

"Ah, you're so articulate, Mr. Potter, that I am jealous!"

"Ha-ha-ha, that's very funny," Harry remarked dryly before closing his mouth and widening his eyes in horror. He was starting to sound like…like…Rookwood!

The Death Eater was snickering softly, shaking his head in his amusement. Once he regained his composure, he smirked with self-satisfaction towards his young charge. "Your schedule will be delivered tonight…and although you may have more classes, Harry, I still expect you to memorize five spells each night."

With that, the Death Eater sauntered arrogantly from the room without another word.

However, Harry was just now starting to panic—freak out, fear, dread—that he was going to learn Occlumency with Narcissa.

He'd rather face Snape any day!

* * *

**Uploaded:** 11/21/06

British Dictionary-

**Pants: **Male underwear

**Shite: **Curse word (shit)

**Arse:** ass

* * *

Whoo! I would like to thank everyone who has read this story, reviewed, or added it to your alert list! I also apologize, this chapter was suppose to be uploaded yesterday but my internet has been down since Friday night until almost five minutes ago :)

Please **READ & REVIEW!** Constructive criticism welcomed, but please tell me what you think!


	3. Marigold

* * *

**I DO NOT OWN THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!**

**Title: **Gladiolus

**Summary:** Time and experiences change people. When the war finally hits home, a revengeful mother will do anything to make sure the Dark Lord suffers for his crimes...Even if it means that she has to train Harry Potter. NM/HP

**A/N: **I believe Antonin Dolohov may be Russian, but I am horrible at writing accents...heh.

* * *

**Marigold:** _Cruelty, Grief, Jealousy_

* * *

**Interlude I**

A colorless head of curls were bowed as a chin rested heavily on a thin chest that rose and fell gently in calm breaths of slumber. The chair did not look very comfortable, but if the short man could sleep away in its embrace of leather and sparse padding then appearances just might be deceiving. Pale eyes shot open and muscles tensed with painful, but attentive paranoia. Emaciated fingers grasped the smooth handle of a wand tightly as the owner pressed himself into the back of the chair as he listened for soft footsteps.

There were none.

Then, a pale face peeked around the chair. It was Dolohov, and he smirked slyly at the man in the chair before patting his friend on the shoulder (he ignored the flinch too).

"Rabastan, time to get up! I have something important to tell you," Dolohov smirked down at the white haired man before snatching the mystery person (now dubbed Rabastan) by his angular wrist and hauled him to his feet. There weren't any protests, only a dark scowl and irritable fidgeting as the albino man smoothed down his rumpled robes.

Doholov ushered his friend out of the small, gloomy bedroom and out into the cold corridor of the East Wing-- where all Death Eaters stayed if they had no where else to live or attend to.

Both Antonin and Rabastan were of the few remaining Inner circle besides Rookwood, Mulciber, and Bellatrix. The rest were rotting away in Azkaban or dead like Rosier Sr. and Avery-- the former had died two months ago by Aurors' hands while the latter committed suicide in Azkaban by repeatedly pounding his head against a wall.

Snape was also wandering about, but he was a prized Potions Master which meant he was not considered one of the Dark Lord's soldiers...Which had made the situation even more shameful for Draco Malfoy.

However, the Dark Lord was by no means lacking followers any longer, especially after the death of Dumbledore-- the Lord of the Light.

The two Death Eaters walked in silence towards…where ever Dolohov was leading them to. Rabastan slouched his shoulders, sighed heavily, and kept an alert eye on everything around them. The new recruits were little bastards with big mouths, large egos, and haughty demeanors that were a pain to deal with. Although it was nice to hear them scream, Rabastan grew tired of cursing them at every turn.

So, that was why he seized Dolohov by the back of his cloak and hid in a dark chasm between a bookshelf and snake statue as a slim young man with dirty blonde hair rounded the corner. Dolohov glared at his friend in the dark but wisely kept his mouth shut. Rabastan watched the youth saunter by with malicious pale eyes until the narrow back was completely out of sight. It was stunning how oblivious the youths of these days were.

A few minutes later they swiftly reached Dolohov's chambers, which were a bit more habitable than Rabastan's own. While Rabastan sunk into a chair, the other Death Eater paced in front of his own desk. Pale eyes watched lazily while a bone white hand covered a yawn.

Dolohov's cheerful demeanor had fled, leaving a worried and tired man before. "Rabastan, Master has placed me in charge of finding and capturing the young Potter brat…and I have to choose two others to help me," he muttered, his Russian accent a bit diluted from his long stay in England. It was there, barely, for it had never been as thick as the rest of his family's.

Rabastan stared back blankly and shrugged.

"Obviously I chose you," Dolohov snorted as he rolled his eyes once more, running a hand through his dark hair as he leaned lightly against the desk behind him.

"But who else? Rookwood…well, he hasn't exactly been himself since that _faithful_ day," here, Dolohov gave a grim smile while his dark eyes sparked with sadistic delight.

Rabastan made a few odd gestures with his hands and Dolohov bobbed his head in agreement after a brief second of thought.

"I don't trust him either. Anyone who denies our Lord anything is obviously unworthy of our confidence…How about Mulciber?" Dolohov paused in his pacing to raise a questioning brow towards the lounging man.

Rabastan cocked his head to the side before suddenly shrugging carelessly which tore a frustrated sigh from Dolohov.

"Anyone but Bellatrix," Antonin Dolohov muttered and Rabastan frantically nodded in agreement, but for an entirely different reason than Antonin.

"So, the old bastard it is! But how to contact him?" Dolohov had no doubt he would accomplish his goal of capturing Potter in order to complete his mission, although he had been worried for a brief moment. Out of the entire Inner circle he had always been the most optimistic-- not to the point that he was exceedingly cheerful, but if the odds were stacked against him...Dolohov wasn't going to just give up.

He did not care if there were a million people in the world who were looking for Potter, it would be Antonin who would find him first. If he had to travel around the world and back, it would not deter him!

Others would just say that Antonin Dolohov was a determined if not _obsessive _man...After all; he had been planning Hermione Granger's murder for a little over a year now.

**/Interlude I**

* * *

"Alright, Harry, its time to move on—we have reviewed, worked on a few tricks, and added to your vocabulary of spells," Augustus Rookwood started slowly, pacing back and forth in front of his young charge with a frown firmly marring his brows. 

Harry himself was seated cross-legged on the white marble floor, leaning against the equally white wall as he waited for the brown haired man to finish. Today he would start his new classes with Transfiguration/Charms next and Potions/Occlumency ending the day directly after supper.

The Death Eater quickly turned to the boy, pensively surveying him with such a care that Harry new instantly that the intelligent former Unspeakable was conspiring against him. The last time the young Gryffindor had seen such an expression on Rookwood's face, Harry had been forced to run through an obscene and complex obstacle course used to train new recruits that joined Voldemort's forces.

Rookwood reluctantly admitted that very few passed, and that those who failed tended to be discarded to be used at a later date when they could be used as distraction in battles. Harry had landed himself in the hospital wing for two days with tentacles growing out of his ears, a few broken ribs (which resulted in a punctured lung), one broken leg, and multiple burns.

"Well, I believe we shall run you through the daily warm-up and then retire to the library for some research so I can roughly sketch out the details of the next few lessons," Augustus offered a sliver of a smile, which seemed to be more natural than Mulciber's forced ones.

Harry did stretches, jogged around the perimeter of the large room, and engaged in a mock duel with his…teacher?

Yes, that was what Rookwood was. A teacher that wasn't exactly…strict, but he did not appreciate disobedience.

Once they settled in the library with Harry seated in front of a relaxed Rookwood, Harry's eyes drifted from the text that had been shoved into his hands to firmly settle on his teacher.

A question had been nagging at his mind for weeks…

Clearing his throat nervously, Harry shifted in his seat and fidgeted with the black work robe that settled over his thin frame loosely. He idly flipped a page, and glanced back at his scribbling teacher. The man was bent low over a piece of parchment, a quill furiously flicking back and forth before being dipped in dark ink at odd intervals.

Long brown hair swept the edges of the parchment, the bangs pulled back tightly out of Rookwood's face. The Death Eater's expression was that of open concentration which was a refreshing change from the stone gargoyles dubbed Narcissa and Mulciber. But, how to ask him this nagging question?

"Why are you helping me?" Harry blurted out quickly, recoiling further back into his seat as if he expected to be cursed.

Rookwood slowly placed his quill down on the table and glanced up at Harry with a frown. When he remained silent for a long, drawn out stretch of time the young man started to fear for the worse.

"Would you prefer that I offer you a candy coated version or be brutally honest?" Augustus asked with an indulgent smirk, choosing his words carefully as he peered over his black reading spectacles with undeniable patience. The Death Eater balanced his chair cautiously on the hind legs, mindful of the fact he could easily topple over. Casually, he folded his hand over his stomach and watched Harry inquiringly.

_'How many people have offered to be honest with me?'_ Harry pondered, the question instantly solving itself as he decided the answer was a firm _'not many.' _But, how would he be able to tell if Rookwood was fibbing?

"The latter…sir," Harry reluctantly added the title of respect at the end. Might as well butter him up a bit...Err, right?

"I was raised as a traditionalist; however when I was sorted into Ravenclaw…my views changed just a bit. The house of the Raven is the nest where all clever chicks meet despite pedigree and so forth. Instead of judging a person by their bloodline or heritage, I learned to value intelligence and talent above all. From then on, my outlook was drastically changed. Sure, I was still a traditionalist but I had gained quite a few progressive ideals…" Rookwood trailed off in thought, staring blankly into the space right above Harry's head.

The man's voice was soft and reminiscent as he gingerly laid out the story so that the young Potter could clearly understand. Augustus sighed heavily and focused once more on his young charge.

"Now, when I became an Unspeakable…I completed training in an abnormally quick fashion which gained the attention of the Dark Lord through the spies in the Ministry. I loathed the Ministry and most of its outdated laws or practices due to my overly logical thinking so when I was approached by my cousin, Bellatrix, I eagerly joined the Dark Lord's quest to rule the world," he frowned bitterly, glaring at the table silently.

Harry took the chance the interrupt, not quite understanding where the story was going but curious about something Augustus said. "Uh, how are you and Bellatrix related?"

Narcissa had called him cousin, too.

Rookwood glanced up briefly before once again glaring at the table in stony, cold anger directed at himself as he wallowed in past memories. "Our mothers were sisters—however, all purebloods are related," he shook his head and cleared his through, placing his chair firmly on the ground once more.

"Ridding the world of the so-called unworthy was just a consequence of purging the Ministry of corruption and obsolete laws. I soon found myself dutifully playing the role of a friendly Ministry worker that was always willing to lend an ear to everyone's problems. The Dark Lord used me as a spy, and it wasn't until I was sentenced to Azkaban that I realized the Dark Lord was not as wonderful as I forcefully made him out to be in my imagination."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, and Rookwood quickly held up a silencing hand. "I was still loyal after the Dark Lord rescued his followers. I had doubts, and it wasn't until the Dark Lord requested certain information that I was unable to offer that those doubts finally swallowed me whole," he once again patiently explained.

Usually Rookwood did not usually speak so much but preferred to keep to himself unless asked a question. Harry often compared him to a dog that was kicked for barking too often and too loud.

Rookwood conjured a glass of water and sipped it before continuing. Harry sat there silently, giving Augustus his undivided attention. The story was finally getting interesting!

"An Unspeakable has…say, a mental safe inside his or her mind. Without the password, any intruder would be unable to access any information held within the safe. I can tell anyone I like, Harry, as long as it is not forcefully taken from me by either mind magic or potions. However," Rookwood gave a self satisfied smirk here.

"I have told the Dark Lord from the very beginning that I could not speak about anything that transpires in the Department of Mysteries to any interloper despite the circumstances. It was a wise and foolish move for it saved me from being pressured, but the Dark Lord was so desperate after he retrieved me from Azkaban that he finally gave up and tried to force himself into the 'safe.'

I didn't work. Instead, he almost destroyed my mind and I ended up in a coma in the hospital wing of the main Death Eater base for almost four months. After I woke up, I kept saying no to him until he became so vexed that he killed my family," Augustus ended in a soft, saddened whisper that was so quiet that Harry had to lean forward to hear it.

Harry swallowed thickly. "How many?" he demanded harshly, his stomach sinking past his knees.

Will Voldemort ever learn?

Rookwood smiled humorlessly, his expression somber. "Four. My beloved wife and three children—I believe my daughter was your age."

Harry swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and pushed away thoughts on how many more Voldemort may have killed. He had never really thought about it until Dumbledore died, but Voldemort has probably killed thousands by now and it was up to him to end the slaughter.

"How do I know you're not fibbing?" Harry accused, eyes narrowing as he stared the Death Eater down. Rookwood gazed calmly back, expression blank except for those sad blue eyes.

Harry tensed up as he spotted Augustus reaching for something in his pocket, but the Death Eater only pulled out a well worn piece of folded parchment. Rookwood slid it across the table to the young man, who grasped it and quickly opened it.

**SHOCKING DEATH EATER ATTACK!**

It was dated the week after the last day of school, and appeared to be a section from the second page. He scanned it quickly, looking for anything that could in fact be shocking or related to Rookwood.

_'…the most shocking of deaths in the magical section of Weymouth was that of the Rookwood family…'_

Harry froze and glanced towards Rookwood to find him calmly staring back, lazily lounging in his seat. Skipping a few lines, the young Potter continued to read…

_'Augustus Rookwood is a well known Death Eater that escaped Azkaban during the mass break out in January of 1996. His wife, Calanthe (42) has always been an upstanding citizen of Great Britain despite her husband's alliance with the Dark Lord. She and her three children were brutally murdered this morning, along with many others in the town._

_However, this reporter firmly believes that they may have been the center of the attack due to an accumulation of well known facts. Haden (20), the middle child of the Rookwood family, was an Auror fresh from training while the eldest Jarret (22) was a talented healer at St. Mungos. Did they pay with their lives for refusing to join their father in the quest to rid the world of all muggle-borns and other related so-called filth?'_

Harry couldn't read anymore, he felt nausea start to rise and he folded the parchment quickly. Woozily, he slumped against the chair and wondered when Voldemort was going to stop. He tormented even those who were loyal to him, poked or prodded his own Death Eaters until they became so fed up that they turned on him.

It was sickening.

"Alright, alright…I believe you," Harry whispered gruffly, shaking his head before roughly shoving the parchment away as if it had insulted him greatly.

"Harry…if there is a family to devastate, the Dark Lord will purposely destroy it. Not many of his close followers have family or are unable to produce any emotions beyond hate. The Malfoy family has fallen, followed by my own, and I'm sure one of the Lestrange brothers will be hurting soon. M—"

"What about the Bulstrodes? Parkinsons? Zabini?" Harry interrupted rudely, gritting his teeth as he gripped the table tightly. He just couldn't comprehend why Voldemort tortured his followers, it would be like Dumbledore offing Order Members left and right. He was so confused that the only emotion he could express was anger.

Rookwood shook his head sadly, glancing towards his hands briefly. "Most of those families are unmarked supporters, Harry, but I'm sure their day will come as well."

Harry nodded slowly and closed his eyes for a brief moment until he remembered he wasn't exactly in trustworthy company.

"I have no chance so--"

"So why am I helping you?" Rookwood finished, brows raised and he once again frowned heavily at the young man. He fell silent as he watched Harry, sometimes glancing down at the table. He quirked an amused brow when he noticed the young man's impatient glare.

Shaking his head, "If someone does not give you a chance, then you don't have a chance at all. You are so far behind in knowledge and experience that I doubt you could defeat the Dark Lord directly-- but there are other ways, you know. You must open your mind, Harry."

With that, Rookwood rose fluently out of his chair and left the room without a single word.

Harry stared at his back and sighed angrily. He hated it when Rookwood did that!

* * *

**Interlude II**

"My Lord, may I request that Mulciber join us in our quest to search for our missing…_friend_?" Dolohov asked politely kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet with Rabastan accompanying him. However, he dutifully allowed sarcasm to drip disgustingly off the word 'friend' as he obviously spoke of the missing Harry Potter.

"No," Voldemort hissed firmly, caressing Nagini's scales with such gentleness that it was almost frightening.

Dolohov gritted his teeth behind his mask and gave a sidelong glance towards Rabastan. However, his friend was staring at the Dark Lord's robe hems with some akin to curiosity. Inwardly sighing, Antonin decided to risk it.

What was life without a few risks?

"Why not my Lord?" Antonin held his breath and prepared to be cursed. The only other option was Bellatrix and that was out of the question. He could torture little girls, rape woman, make grown men cry, and so forth but he just could not stand to stay in the presence of Bellatrix for more than two seconds.

Her insanity and fanaticism was alluring, but he would never admit it. While he, Dolohov, was a complete bastard-- he was also oddly loyal to a fault. One could not classify him as a Gryffindor nor a Slytherin for his characteristics ran strong for both houses.

He had attended Drumstrang and met the odd Lestrange twins during the winter of his fifth year when his parents attended the yearly Yule celebration. Antonin had been attracted to the serious Rodolphus with his dark humor and bitter smiles. They were almost instant friends, and Antonin soon met the strange Rabastan.

Back then, his parents charmed him to fit into the family…Dark hair, tanned skin, and mysterious black eyes. However, Rabastan was only considered strange at the time because he was unable to speak. His vocal chords had been heavily damaged by an accident before his fourth birthday.

Psh, if he was left alone with Bellatrix he might end up screwing her against the wall at the most convenient moment! She'd enjoy it too, that whore…but his loyalty to his friend would not allow it.

He'd allow himself the fantasy, but as long as Antonin dodged the woman he'd be in the clear. His dear friend, 'Rabby,' however completely hated his sister-in-law with such fervor that it was admirable.

Rabastan nudged Antonin hard in the ribs and he jolted, realizing his Lord was speaking. Forcefully, he cleared his mind of moaning naked woman and tried to concentrate.

"--he's busy with a special project I assigned him, Dolohov. I'm sure Bella will be most eager, but she's not the most subtle person I believe. I will allow you to work with only Rabastan and ask Mulciber for help but you are not to distract him. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," Antonin replied dutifully, watching Rabastan nod his head in acceptance and sign something quickly. Relief flowed over him, but it was short lived.

"Dismissed."

As they were halfway out of the large, a former ballroom: "And, Dolohov?" the Dark Lord drawled lazily, crimson eyes glittering malignant fire as he twirled his wand casually from his seat at a large velvet throne.

Slowly, Antonin turned and bowed. "Yes, My Lord?"

"Crucio! Don't you _dare_ speak to me like that ever again!"

Rabastan watched his friend scream and writhe on the ground with emotionless eyes. However, once the curse was broken he bowed and quickly helped his friend out of the room.

/**Interlude II**

* * *

"Welcome to Transfiguration and Charms, Mr. Potter," Mulciber started smoothly, sitting stiffly behind his desk. Those mint green eyes followed the young man's every move like a hawk. 

"This class will be combining the two arts of magic with dueling-- we will start from the very beginning for I'm sure the old cat McGonagall only taught you the valuable skill of turning a rat into a teaspoon," Mulciber sneered as he gracefully got to his feet.

Harry (who had been standing awkwardly near the door due to the lack of seats or desks) wisely watched his new teacher with wary eyes. He still remembered the haunting loathing he had often seen lighting up the old man's eyes every time his gaze turned on Harry. It gave him the impression that Mulciber had been forced unwillingly into helping out.

"I am not fond of theory work or researching-- I'll leave that to Rookwood and Narcissa. Thus, there are no desks beyond my own for there will also be absolutely no writing. Everything must be committed to memory. What's the point otherwise? A wise Death Eater will not allow you to pull out a book to look up a counter curse. A new recruit…possibly."

Mulciber aggressively took a step forward, a hideous smirk curling his lips. It was the only hint of an expression on his otherwise stony face. The cool tip of a wand was pressed against Harry's throat, and the old man leaned in so close that Harry could feel his breath against his cheek.

"If you have allowed me to get this close, than Rookwood has obviously taught you nothing!"

Harry was pushed away roughly. He scowled at the old geezer but said nothing. If he didn't allow his mouth to get away with him, than this old man had no reason to curse him…right?

That day he ignored the taunts (all the while wondering where the charming Mulciber had went) and silently did as he was told. Mainly they worked on conjuring, which was Harry was something he had yet to learn in Transfiguration. Charms was easy enough, it was mostly review and lessons in how to apply those spells in a duel.

Mulciber had the strangest capability of acting both pleased and displeased with his young charge at the same time. His capabilities at derision was not as skillful as Snape since Mulciber didn't know Harry's sore points, but at this rate the old man would discover them all by the end of the week. The two tones were almost indistinguishable because for every compliment there was also an insult.

"As I have stated before, Potter, Transfiguration is mainly powered by sheer will power. The theories that have been drilled into your thick skull are all nice and well, but it does not work for everyone. As a Gryffindor, I highly doubt that you enjoy theory work, correct?" Mulciber asked snidely. Unlike Rookwood, who almost always had his hands moving in wild gestures as he lectured and sometimes paced about, Mulciber stood stalk still (arms crossed) and stared down his nose disdainfully at Harry with hard eyes.

"Yes...erm, sir," Harry hastily added the title when he saw a muscle in Mulciber's cheek twitch at the lack of respectful title.

The old geezer had hit it head on. It was probably the reason why he favored Defense so much. When Harry had to read anything for his favorite class it was usually straight forward, simple, and informative.

"So tell me why are you having so much trouble! You obviously have enough will power and stubborn qualities in your self righteous persona!" Mulciber hissed, trying to keep his cool. He had never been adept while dealing with children or teens, especially when his ideal of a young adult was far too mature to be real. Growing up in a house like he did, Mulciber had been extremely mature which had made him develop awkward social skills around his peers until he graduated Hogwarts.

Thus, his expectations were extremely high-- especially for Potter who was supposed to be a godsend for all those unworthy.

Otherwise, he could charm anyone he wanted. Either with magic or a charming persona, it hardly mattered. He had tried to be nice and charismatic in order to lure the boy into trusting him or at least into a fragile sense of security but Mulciber had decided to give up after a few days, for his loathing for the boy was far too deep. Alvyn Mulciber had long ago fell into denial, thus he blamed all his problems on the Potter boy rather than the Dark Lord or himself.

Sometimes, playing nice was just too stressing.

"Um, not sure?" Harry answered sheepishly, shrugging. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and had been for the past hour. His butt was numb, his foot was falling asleep, and he was really hungry.

Mulciber's patience was quickly running thin and he reminded Harry uncomfortably of McGonagall as his lips thinned just as his tolerance was rapidly disintegrating. "You're not sure," he asked, deadpanned.

Harry blinked at him, unsure how to answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mulciber just focused a scalding glare on him.

"You can oddly conjure snails...how _useful_," Mulciber sneered scornfully, shaking his head sadly.

"Vanishing something is difficult due to the fact that it's _right in front of you_. Conjuring on the other hand is quite simple due to the fact that everyone always appears to be wishing for _something_. So, up boy!" Mulciber stepped forward quickly and yanked Harry to his feet by an arm. The young Potter winced in annoyance more than pain, but stood there awkwardly.

Mulciber was about to say something but abruptly shook his head. Sternly pointing to the door, "Out," he spat stonily.

"Huh?"

"I don't want to see your behind in this room, young man, until you learn to conjure at least a rock! Maybe you can poke an eye out with a pebble during a duel rather than slime a Death Eater to...a deranged existence!"

When Harry didn't move, the Death Eater swiftly shoved the boy out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Shaking his head in bemusement, Harry wondered off towards the kitchens. Mulciber was weird, and Harry was tempted to just dilly-dally on his practice of conjuring so he wouldn't have to deal with the old man. He had no doubt that Mulciber was perfectly serious, but the young Potter also knew he needed those lessons desperately.

If only Hermione was here…

After finishing a ham sandwich, he wondered back to his room and noticed that he had almost an hour worth of free time…but what to do?

Green orbs wandered around the room slowly, a soft sigh escaping Harry's lips as he realized just how alone he was. Sure, the three ex-Dark Lord supporters were slowly but surely proving they could be trustworthy…it hardly meant they were good company! Narcissa was always hidden away, Rookwood was too quiet (and too hard to find!), and Mulciber was certainly too cantankerous.

They weren't as belligerent as he had previously believed, but his nostalgia was making Harry depressed. Sometimes he wondered what his friends were doing in the past few weeks, or what happened to Tonks and Shacklebolt during his kidnapping. Mulciber had said they were fine, but Harry didn't exactly find him to be the most sincere person.

Settling on his bed after a few moments of wandering blindly around the room in the dark, Harry yawned and stared up at the ceiling as he tried not to think of his friends. Slowly, green orbs slowly closed as the young man drifted off into a light sleep…

The curtains were flung open, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The messy haired Gryffindor groaned and rolled onto his side in order to hide away from the peeping sun. The only noise was the soft rustle of fabric as long robes drifted over deep brown carpet. A firm hand pried the soft duvet off Harry with some struggle, but the silent blonde woman was triumphant in the end.

Harry groaned again and tried to hide his face in the pillows, but was unsuccessful for they were soon banished from underneath his head.

"Time to rise and shine, sweetheart!" Narcissa chimed with a sing-song tone smugly as she flicked her wand at the ruffled, and reluctant young man.

Yelping as he was suddenly lifted into the air by his ankle, Harry was grateful that he had fallen asleep in his robes last night!

"LET ME DOWN!" Harry bellowed, tempted to struggle but knew it was useless. Instead, his face quickly turned red as all the blood rushed to his head.

Narcissa cocked her head to the side and seemed to ponder the bellowed request. "Nope."

"NOW, NOW, NOW!" Harry howled, flailing as she levitated him towards the bathroom door. The cruel woman stepped forward and opened the door, from which steam rushed out. Harry's eyes widened comically as the clear sound of a running shower greeted his ears.

"NO!"

As his doom loomed ever near, Harry made a mad scramble for the door frame and quickly attached himself to it.

With the aid of magic, Narcissa easily pried his fingers open and kept him afloat with little difficulty. Instead, she maneuvered herself so that she could keep her concentration on the boy while she opened the shower door.

"Say you're sorry," Narcissa whispered icily, turquoise eyes staring at the struggling boy with an unnerving steely glint.

"For what!" Harry choked out, arms hanging limply while his eyes darted around beseechingly. Sadly, he couldn't find anything to hang onto except a flimsy towel rack.

"Apologize!" Narcissa snarled, moving him closer to the scalding hot water.

Harry could barely see the blonde woman through the steam now, and vaguely he noticed how her soft features were twisted into a scowl.

"WHY?!"

"You missed my lessons! You ungrateful brat! Do you always take advantage of other's freely given kindness?" Usually, Narcissa wasn't so inclined to bouts of anger, but she had sat through supper last night as Mulciber ranted and raved about the little brat he had to teach…then coupled with her stress it was just too much!

The ministry was investigating her, Lucius was in Azkaban, Draco was dead, her sister was insane, and then Potter had to balls to completely skip her class! Her mental shields had grown pressured and strained under the one emotion that was skyrocketing. Thus, in the end she had decided to take it out of on someone.

Who cared if she lost her composure so openly? Potter would be so swamped with work the next few days or weeks that he would completely forget about it.

If Rookwood could use the Cruciatus Curse on the brat for disobedience than she could very well throw him into the shower! In the end, Narcissa decided she would be very calm and composed when she had to attend her meeting with the Minister that afternoon once she let some steam out.

Usually, her sense of propriety would demand that she had an escort with her before entering the chambers of another male that was certainly not her husband…but, she ignored it. Narcissa had broken the rule once, so this really held no great importance.

"I fell asleep!"

"No, excuses Potter!"

Harry bit his cheek hard enough that the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Exhaling noisily, he quickly tried to think his way out of this. If she shoved him in there, he sincerely doubted she would heal any burns he received.

But, if he said sorry he would look weak.

So, pride or pain? Hmm, what a difficult choice…

But, he had to take something else into consideration. If she believed he didn't appreciate her help, would the training stop? Harry realized he would be free, and yet also lost.

Merlin!

"You're kindness wasn't freely given!" he blurted with little thought, kicking out his free foot in frustration as he glared broodingly at her silhouette through the steam.

Silence.

"You're quite right, Mr. Potter, but you shall apologize despite your logic," even over the roar of the shower, her words could curl ice.

When Harry didn't respond, she inched him closer to the spray. He winced as a few drops splattered him, which quickly made up his mind. His pride could recover far more quickly than his skin!

"I'M SORRY!"

"Good, you will spend the rest of the day with Rookwood and meet me tonight in the potions labs," Narcissa informed him pleasantly. A few flicks of her wand, the shower was shut off and Harry was lowered gently to the floor.

As the steam cleared, Narcissa delicately offered the boy a hand up. Harry tried to ignore the way she wiped her hands off on the nearest towel in disgust after helping him. At least she was attempting to be polite.

It was then he noticed her attire. It was extremely disarming how…amiable the blonde woman appeared in a summer dress of white lace and sun hat. The image was shattered when she smirked loftily down at him, her chin raised imperiously.

"Well, shoo!"

After Narcissa had left, he took a very cold shower—still traumatized by his near torture, which had been quite innovative. Harry got dressed quickly, and was out the door in less than half an hour.

Rookwood met him on the ground floor. He was sitting casually on the railing, his feet swinging back and forth serenely as he waited patiently for his young charge.

"Am I gonna be able to eat—"

"Ah, just the young man I was looking for!" Rookwood interrupted easily, his soft voice firm but also pleasant enough that Harry was almost convinced that the brown haired man was actually happy to see him.

Slipping off the railing, Rookwood patted down his robes until he thought they appeared presentable. Glancing up at Harry with his crystal gaze, Augustus offered a thin smile.

"Come along, we have much to discuss over breakfast." Pivoting on his heal, the Death Eater strode quickly across the room into the large doors that held the dining room.

Harry rushed to catch up with him, but it was pointless since the brown haired man had politely stood by the doors as he waited for his charge to catch up. Once they were seated, the food was served.

Rookwood ate like a bird, mostly picking at his food and eating very little. For a while, the only sounds in the room were the clinking of silver upon porcelain. Harry dutifully noted that the Death Eater drank quite a bit of tea.

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry slowly turned his gaze from the tea cup and saucer to the Death Eater himself.

"You're awfully silent, Harry," the man observed quietly, his gaze curious.

"Yea, well you would be too if Narcissa tried to shove you in a scalding hot shower," Harry grumbled, viciously skewering his ham.

Rookwood gave a rich chuckle, which made Harry stare at him incredulously. He had never…ever heard the man laugh. Hell, this entire place was void of any possible laughter or cheer.

"Ah, yes, Narcissa did that to me at her 16th birthday when I charmed her hair neon green," he sipped his tea quietly.

At Harry's skeptical expression, he placed the tea cup down gingerly and offered another thin smile. "I was quite a trouble maker in my day, but my humor has significantly decreased over the years for obvious reasons."

There was another interval of silence until Rookwood was once again the one to break the silence.

"Well, I believe I will be helping you solve your conjuring problem and step up your lessons in defense," here, Rookwood sighed softly.

He sipped his tea once more; his gaze focused somewhere over Harry's head. He was muttering something, but it was indistinguishable.

"Umm, okay," Harry replied, not sure if the other wanted an answer or not.

Rookwood only nodded absentmindedly and poured himself some more tea as he waited for Harry to finish his breakfast.

"I spent all last night working on a project, Harry, for our training sessions. Thankfully, it was already close to completion but sadly it had been shoved aside when I was condemned. Last night, with the aide of a few energy potions, I picked out the bugs and set it up," Rookwood explained softly, his gaze focused on his tea which he stirred a bit of sugar into slowly.

"What is it?" Harry inquired eagerly, unable to help himself as he scooted forward a bit in his chair.

"Finish up and I'll show you," Rookwood laughed again, shaking his head in amusement.

Harry finished off his breakfast reluctantly for he would rather just go now instead. But, at the stern glare Rookwood gave him, he was forced to finish his meal. Soon he found himself following the brown haired man up the stairs towards their unknown destination.

As they walked along silently, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

_'How does Rookwood deal with his grief so easily?' _

Harry's thoughts also wandered to Narcissa. _'She must be on the rag. For a moment she reminded him of Bellatrix…just briefly. I almost feel sorry for her husband…' _

Briefly, he wandered about his Auror friends also, but Rookwood opened a door and ushered him inside.

It was a room that was simply a great expanse of white just like the rest of the house. There weren't any windows, furniture, or anything really. Yet, it was different. Everything was smooth, not a line of tile or marble in sight!

However, he soon noticed the small little balls of little bobbling around the room near the roof. Each one was encased in a neatly numbered glass box attached to the wall in numerical order. These boxes lined the perimeter of the room like odd little ornaments one would expect to see on the Hogwarts Christmas tree.

Harry hardly noticed that Rookwood had disappeared through a well hidden door, but when the lights went off…he wasn't too pleased.

"Hey Rookwood! What's going on?" It was so dark that he couldn't see his own nose!

Then, the lights flared but the walls surrounding him were completely black that Harry only noticed the light due to the fact he could see his nose now. Uncertainly Harry wobbled forward precariously, the sensation that he was going to fall into a black hole was overpowering and he soon found himself standing stalk still.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Potter?" someone hissed malevolently, a cold crackle of laughter following those sinister words.

A spine-chilling shiver worked its way over him, and Harry slowly turned around. His fear turned instantly into courage and the emotion of overwhelming betrayal. In front of him stood…

Lord Voldemort.

* * *

**Uploaded:** 1/5/07

**A/N:** I apologize for my tardiness! I re-wrote this chapter almost five times, so it was quite frustrating. Sadly, this chapter was becoming extremely long so I was unable to fit lessons with Narcissa in. Hmm...Maybe Narcissa is Bellatrix's sister afterall! **Next chapter will probably be the longest, featuring:** _more lessons, Mulciber's project, a peek with Death Eaters and the Order, and basically a plot twist and the base for the rest of the story._

Next chapter will probably be the last of descriptive training chapters also and will certainly contain far more action than the last three :D

I went through the last chapters and picked out any errors I could find, and hopefully this chapter does not have too many typos. For anyone willing to offer, **I need a Beta-reader.**

Please READ & REVIEW! Constructive criticism welcomed, but please tell me what you think!**  
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